Thursday, March 24, 2016

the last book I ever read (Pat Conroy's My Losing Season, excerpt two)

I put my hands on my waist as I watched Jimmy Halpin covering the freshman guard Jerry Hirsch. My hands. The subject was painful to me. I had the smallest hands I’d ever seen on a man. I was reading a book by Bob Cousy on what made him so great, and he shocked me by revealing that one of the absolute requirements for a point guard was large hands. I could not palm a basketball; I was forced to use both hands for balance and control. There was no way for me to do a one-handed layup, but I had perfected the art of pretending to do one. With great care and some legerdemain, I kept all attention away from this liability.